Baxter, Vera Baxter

Who is Vera Baxter? This is the question the movie asks. There are many disputable facts, both due to differing viewpoints, but also because characters are lying either to themselves or to others. However, it seems reasonably clear that Vera is the wife of Jean Baxter, a man once heard in the movie, but never seen. Who is Jean Baxter? A rich man. The only certainties are those, he is a rich man, she is the wife of a rich man. These are the pins under which they live. True identity perhaps long lost in childhood.

Vera rests alone in an expensive house she is considering renting, in Thionville, and is visited by two women, the first a lover of Jean who is fascinated to know who Vera is, as Jean had often spoke of her, and an anonymous woman who became fascinated the name Vera Baxter when she hears it in a local bar. Names are very important in the movie, Vera grew up in the Arcangues, in south west France, at the conjunction of the Atlantic and the Spanish border. Scenes of the beach are shown throughout the movie, but Thionville is in Lorraine, in north eastern France. Thionville was known as Diedenhofen by the Germans, indeed had been inhabited by Germans for a millennium before annexation by France in the 17th Century. There followed a back and forth courtesy of the Franco-Prussian War, which left a French town but with many Neo-Gothic buildings (examples of which are shown in the movie). France has always been the feminine, and Germany the masculine in the French imagination. The best film exploration of this is Melville's Le Silence de la Mer.

Vera Baxter, the name is at once feminine and masculine. Baxter, so dominant and masculine a name, referred to women bakers in Anglo-Saxon times, but a few centuries later had been terminally co-opted as masculine. Vera is as feminine a name as I can think of. But the emphasis is on Baxter, repeated twice in the title. The Second Sex of Simone de Beauvoir appears to be a touchstone for this movie. Women have historically been defined as the "Other", that which is different from man, which revolves around man. Women still tend to identify themselves in reference to their social roles rather than their achievements in my experience. Vera Clouzot also springs to mind, that wonderful hyper-feminine actress who appeared only in the films of her husband. The male viewpoint is typified by the reported opinion of Jean Baxter that his wife's demeanour is one of docility, whilst the first woman visitor describes it as one of certitude.

Her first visitor mentions Vera returning to Arcangues briefly, describing it as "where people know you". She reports that her husband said that it was only possible to know Vera through desire. Perhaps she is only who she is during moments of passion. In any case none of this is shown in the movie, there is distance as much as anything. That is maybe the point, that her identity has been destroyed. This most heightened expression of this is when the second visitor, "l'inconnue", refers to a whole region of women deserted emptied when their husbands left for the crusades.

Something that I pondered on in the movie was that sometimes it's only possible for me to know other men via women. Men are so competitive and macho, and therefore reluctant to reveal themselves to one another, I can often only understand them by listening to their girlfriends, who are allowed to see them. Michel Cayre (Depardieu - present only at the beginning of the movie) dismisses the husband, only seeing about him that he is rich, therefore to be envied and despised. The only hint of who Jean Baxter might be comes from listening to Vera. I was very drawn in by this point and others, and I think Duras' technique aids this. Both in Detruire dit-elle, and here, I felt as if I were sat amongst the characters, here when Vera and "l'inconnue" are positioned around empty chairs that fill up half the frame, I felt as if I was being invited to sit down.

The sea, often used in contrast to the sky, or the mountains, as a feminine plays a large part in many of Duras' novels and films. Arcangues is by the sea, and the rhythm of the conversations is like the lapping of waves on the shore. Rhythm is important in the film and provides it with much of its allure, for most of the movie Chilean movie plays on a continuous loop. Some people have found this hard to handle, but I felt it removed much of the oppressiveness and inwardness that the film might otherwise have had. It was also a reminder that life is out there, even if it may be as far away as the other side of the Atlantic.

The film was also released under the title of "L'adultère", which in French can either mean adulterer or adulteress. For whatever reason and whatever truth (the movie suggests more than one), Vera appears to have given into the urge to sleep with another man not long prior to the start of the movie, which has provoked a sort of despair. Jean has had many affairs, but they're not treated in the same light, almost as if his are acceptable, as if a man's nature is to give his body freely, but a woman's to save her love for one man. The scenes during the credits I would suggest relate to this and are post-coital.

As a side note, Duras is uncredited as a cast member in the movie, but is an unseen participant in the first conversation of the movie.

Over a slow hour and a half, Duras' film unfolds in three scenes: narrative openings at a hotel bar introduce us to the absent figure of Vera Baxter, who waits in a large and empty villa she's set to rent; in the villa, Vera is visited by the former mistress of her husband, the enormously wealthy Jean Baxter; subsequently-in the film's real centre-the stranger (Delphine Seyrig) who'd heard Baxter's backstory at the hotel turns up at the house un-announced, listening in on a phone conversation between Baxter and her husband in which, with apparent, but unconvincingly finality, Vera announces that it's over, and then, in the subsequent, lengthy dialogue, insists that Baxter-who admits to frequently lying-will reveal her 'secret'. All this to slow pans around the enormous, clean, empty and arid villa, paid for with Jean's money; shots of the beach where Vera grew up; and of Thionville, the town where she now finds herself: sea, ruins and woods, emptied of people, but with an incessant, endlessly looped piece of South American music for pipe, guitar and handclaps, described by the characters as the sounds of a party from the villa nearest the sea, and in the film somewhere between diegetic and non-diegetic, real and hallucinated, ambient suggestion and maddening itch, a fly that won't go back out through the window. The revelation, if revelation it is, that Vera's one extra-marital affair was in fact set up by Jean as payment for a gambling debt reveals to a greater and more shocking extent the prison which is this bourgeois marriage-a marriage to a man, friends of her brothers, met as a teenager, enormously wealthy, but, according to Vera, a man who 'has money' rather than a 'rich man', who compulsively spends on gambling and on women in order to cover for his own lack. Vera in turn serves as accoutrement to the house (already paid for by Jean before Vera has even decided whether or not to say) as accoutrement to wife as accoutrement to husband, a financialised transaction in which sexual encounter serves as a payment for a debt between men, in which any act of freedom or defiance seems already circumscribed in a vicious circle of icy control. Vera has been sitting in the house, refusing to the answer the phone to her husband, her lover, the estate agent, contemplating suicide. But towards the film's end, the stranger tells her of the women who waited for their husbands, on holy wars or crusades, who learned to communicate with animals and forests, who were burned at the stake: one of these women was Vera Baxter, she informs her, in a flash of analysis that brings together the film's glacially, even languorously excoriating demolition of patriarchal marriage. At the film's end, the two depart for the hotel in town, not so much in sisterhood or escape, but with some slowly deepening knowledge beyond the incessant lies, tellings and re-tellings that both entrap and, perhaps, contain the seeds to understanding, itself the seed for liberation.

I really tried to watch it until the end but that awful infinite same music that goes on for the entire movie, for every second of the movie, was absolutely driving me crazy. It was impossible for me to follow the dialogues and the plot. I had the feeling that the director had no idea how to do it and really didn't mind if the movie was unwatchable, she only wanted to follow her (despicable) idea of this infinite music loop.

Maybe without audio and just reading subtitles, it can be watched, but is this what I want from a movie? I mean, a movie can also be an experimental art-movie and still be watchable, makes a sense. This doesn't. I really suggest you to give such an effort to another one and avoid loose your time.

Depending on where you come across this film, you may see the genre label "mystery" used to describe it. This is, it turns out, the single best label. Here is a list of those things about this film that are not mysteries: the gentle, pleasant cinematography of Sacha Vierny; the lovely shot composition of filmmaker Marguerite Duras. The latter is bolstered by fetching production design, and excellent hair, makeup, and costume design. The filming locations are swell. And the single most clever thing that 'Baxter, Vera Baxter' does is to have the exact same song playing in the background for the entirety of the picture - and to have characters comment on it. I would love so much to say that I have more praise to offer here, or other remarks that are baseline positive. I don't.

To be honest, beyond those above aspects, things get murky. It's especially true in the entire first third of the feature, but continues to be a striking facet thereafter, that this often wants us to believe two (or more) separate and opposite statements are simultaneously true of the same thing. Or is there some major puzzle piece that I'm just not seeing? It sure seems to me as though the film is extraordinarily bad at identifying its characters - who they are, and what their relationships are to each other. This is especially true since Vera is spoken of in the third person even by people that she talks to, making me second-guess that the character identified as "Vera" actually is Vera. During the course of a conversation the dialogue may give two or more different impressions of who a supporting character is, or who they are in relation to Vera. Inanimate objects, and locations, receive the same treatment, being spoken of in conflicting ways even within the same conversation, and sometimes not being particularly identified at all. I spent an unreasonable amount of time watching unsure of the answer to basic questions of "who," "what," "where," or even "when" within each "scene."

I detect some story ideas in this. They range from "fair" to "great." I have a hard time believing that those ideas have been organized into a meaningful collection, let alone a singular plot, beyond what a one-line description might portend. "Might" is a key word, mind you, and the possibility of discerning "themes" is right out. Between that lack, the stated enigma that is the writing at large, and the very subdued tone, I'm not entirely certain that I can say the cast are acting. They're just sort of vaguely present. And I don't mean this as disparagement by any means; in the very least, I've seen Delphine Seyrig elsewhere and adore her. There are no nuances to pick up on in the portrayals, however: there is dialogue, and that's it. In fairness, during one slice of dialogue we get raised voices (heard, not seen), yet this is not a point in the movie's favor since the instances are grating on the ears for how they conflict with the soundtrack otherwise.

Someone, or possibly even multiple people, understand what Marguerite Duras was doing with 'Baxter, Vera Baxter,' and they appreciate this 1977 title. Indeed, I read other reviews and think, "Wow, they got a lot out of this, that sounds like something fantastic I'd like to watch." However, practically speaking, I can't entirely be sure that other reviewers were watching the same movie that I just did. I know that in the past I've had dreams that left me with a very different impression of this or that, some kernel of unknown knowledge that then wormed its way into my waking assumptions - assumptions which were, in turn, definitively not borne out by the actual experience. I have to wonder if this isn't how some have come to extract profound substance from Duras' picture. I've watched plenty of soft, low-key, arthouse, subtle, underhanded films and loved them. I get nothing at all from this, nothing except nice visual aesthetics and one inescapable (enjoyable) song. I'm glad for those who get more from it. For my part, I can't imagine recommending 'Baxter, Vera Baxter,' and I wish I had spent these ninety minutes on something else.

i didn´t enjoy this movie. i like other films with similar proposals (long shots, slow cadence, extended silences, bresson-like acting...) i accept that M.Duras had a personal way to understand the cinema, but i didn´t enjoy this movie.